


Watch the World We've Built Come Crumbling Down

by Ending_Daley



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, i like to give my ships babies and then hurt them, in which nothing probably makes any sense and is riddled with mistakes, my ship not their babies, take my degree off me - just try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4490307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ending_Daley/pseuds/Ending_Daley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after the Indominus wrought havoc in Jurassic World, Claire Dearing and Owen Grady were called back to Isla Nublar. Except now, Owen doesn't want to be there. Far more concerned with the safety of his family than the park's prospects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this is but i had to write SOMETHING. also, sorry?

Owen Grady thought heat like this would make him delirious after succumbing to the suburbs for so long. Instead, it was almost a welcome comfort, sticky on his skin and unfamiliar for the first hours before warming his bones like a burning fire. It both soothed and unnerved him all at once.

Six years. The time worried him, sparked a trickle of paranoia at the base of his skull. What had taken six years before they were contacted. What needed that much time. He tried to discuss it with Claire, at least think about the reasons these people had; what schemes they were hatching. They had gotten to her before him, feeding her facts and statistics, promising security and safety. Not again. No more. The dinosaurs were in containment and would not get out again. She swallowed each and every word, feeding it to him and her nephews. It was safe, their returning to the island to work would go without incident. Grey didn’t believe his aunt, he held no power in stopping her. That was Owen’s job, convincing her otherwise, making sure the safety of their whole unit was guaranteed. The numbers lined up, the incident reports made sense, new procedure would stop old mistakes. It was enough for Claire, and therefore, enough for Owen.

His bungalow was exactly where he had left it. Everything intact despite his six year absence. The place had been tidied, cleaned and adorned with a few added extras. He and Claire were a packaged deal now, a married couple with a toddler son.

That was what Owen worried about, little Noah, a boy not old enough to escape if it were so needed. Although he, at age three, was finding his place in the world, he was still dependant on his parents. This choice, as commented by Claire, was not made lightly but within the best benefit for their family.

Maybe he was just excited to work with dinosaurs again, raising them from infancy, that he didn’t think their old life in Minnesota was any different to this. Any less safe. Noah’s trepidation towards the dinosaurs, regardless of if they were in the lab, large paddocks or the infants in the petting zoo, stirred Owen’s apprehension. He was surprised to find the boy scared and cautious, thinking that InGen and Claire had provided them with a bonding experience like no other. They were both wrong in their bargain plea.

He wanted to enjoy being back, holding the routine an excitement inside his chest, pounding like wild horses on the run. Noah’s emotions made it hard, knowing that he should put his son before himself. The slight fear that it could all go horribly wrong nagged at the back of his thoughts alongside Noah’s nervous twitch, but the adrenaline was too much, the fear was drowned out.

Owen turned a blind eye to actual reality, happy to see that ACU were doing their job and each paddock was reenforced sufficiently that in the four weeks since they arrived no incidents had occurred. At least, not dinosaur related incidents.

The sun was setting over crystalline water, mosquitos coming out for their evening meal as Claire joined her husband on their little deck. ‘Noah’s asleep,’ she whispered her voice still quiet from lulling the little boy. She curled up on the love-seat beside Owen, her legs tucked under her as she leant against his side, her head on his shoulder. Claire sighed heavily, stress rolling from her lungs in a way Owen hadn’t heard in months.

‘Is everything all right?’ he asked, turning his eyes from the sunset to his beautiful wife. She had cut her hair again, trimming it back to the easy to maintain bob she had all those years ago. After the park was closed, after they picked up the pieces of their jobs and headed for suburban America she had let her hair grow long. Red was everywhere, fanning across her pillow in the morning, wrapped around his mind during the day, held tight in the tiny hands of their newborn son. She cut it after Noah was born, just to her shoulders, not this short. He was taking some time to get used to it. Owen felt like an old ghost was following him, warning him in the hollows of his wife’s face, of the dangers that awaited them there.

Claire hummed, placing a soft kiss to his shoulder. He shifted to kiss the top of her head, happy to sit in silence as they watched the day end. They didn’t move from the porch until Claire shivered in the cooling chill, frosty night settling over warm skin. He bustled her inside, breaking away to wash their mugs in the kitchen sink.

‘Owen,’ her voice called out to him, soft and almost fragile. His shoulders tensed. He couldn’t even count on his hands the number of times she spoke his name like that. He wanted to place it though, the times so few and far between, they sailed through them, moved on the tone completely forgotten before the next one came along. ‘Owen,’ she said his name a second time, trying to work herself up to what she had to say. He wanted to turn to her, to watch her face, let instinct tell him whether it was a panic moment or not. He couldn’t turn around, he knew what her control was like, she chose this moment with his back turned over the half-an-hour they snuggled as the sun set. ‘I’m pregnant.’ She whispered, just barely. He turned on the spot.

Claire was standing, hands tied in knots on the kitchen counter, her face down turned, hair falling in an attempt to mask her expression. It was too short to actually work. Her eyes were guarded, emotion held back until she had garnered his response. He didn’t know what she was thinking, didn’t know how to appropriately react. His heart was pounding, blood rushing through his ears in a mixture of excitement and full blown fear.

His mind flashed to the morning she had told him they were expecting Noah. Claire was a mess of frightened energy, so scared she could barely look him in the eye. So worried that he didn’t love her, like he hadn’t spent the previous two years trying to convince her that he did; that he wouldn’t go anywhere so long as she stopped trying to push him away. He couldn’t remember his exact reaction, laugh, she says now, but in reality he faintly remembers kissing her skin; her cheeks, her hands, her belly, grinning the whole while. It was easy then, he set her anxiety on track. She settled into the idea, fell in love with it and their son, in turn, once he was placed in her arms.

‘Please say something,’ her voice wobbled, eyes flicking up to catch his. Cicadas sung outside the window, frogs chorusing in the lake. He couldn’t think, he didn’t think he could even move. Noah was the light of his life, and now they were going to have another baby. Owen was overjoyed. The feeling just wouldn’t come out it felt like the whole island was suddenly suffocating him. Something roared in the distance only solidifying his fear.

‘What are we doing here?’ he finally managed to get out, a little harder than he would have liked, anger lacing through words of wonder.

Claire blinked, taken aback, ‘what?’

‘What are we doing on this island? What are we doing here with our _family_?’

She tilted her head at him slightly, reminiscent of his raptors; ‘our jobs?’ She asked, eyebrow raising slightly.

‘The last time we were here, a genetically modified dinosaur escaped, killing more then half of the ACU team, threatening twenty-thousand guests, not to mention the staff on this island. There were people who didn’t make it out alive, Claire. Your nephews were chased by the goddamn thing. And now, here we are, back again with our son … with another baby. Why?’

Claire’s face fell, paling slightly. Owen wasn’t too sure why, if it was the sudden realisation that they were all in danger or if she was just feeling ill. ‘It’s safe,’ she almost wobbled, controlling her voice through a set jaw. ‘Safer than last time.’

‘The fact that there was even a ‘last time’ is probably a good indicator that it’ll never be safe again.’

‘Owen, this is our job. This place, it’s our lively hood. We’re needed here. You didn’t argue when the contracts were placed in front of you.’ Her hand fell to her hip, her posture straightening as she regained her argument. ‘In fact,’ Claire clicked her tongue, ‘I’m fairly sure you said something about Noah’s college fund.’

‘Oh, no, no, no.’ Owen shook his head, ‘we had jobs, good jobs far away from InGen, away from the possibility of being hunted by dinosaurs. You were safe there, he was safe.’ Owen’s hand wildly gestured towards the young boy’s bedroom. If he was being honest, and he was, one hundred per cent; life in Minnesota had been dull, almost boring. But he got used to it, the normalcy, the reassurance in safety. Once Noah was born, there was no better place than Minnesota to raise a family. ‘We’re risking that by being here, by staying here. Are you willing to continue risking their safety?’

‘You agreed to this!’ Claire hissed, leaning forward onto the counter. ‘We talked about this Owen, and you agreed.’ ‘Not without hesitation, Claire. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life here. I don’t want to spend more than three months here. God, since we stepped foot on this godforsaken island with Noah nothing has been right. You’re too blind to see it. You want to stay. You want to be back in control, and that was okay. But, Claire, you’re pregnant. This is our opportunity to go home. Tell Masrani Global that we made a mistake. We can break away from this.’ He was willing to get down on his knees, to beg her, hands clasped in front of his face. To hold onto her hips and squeeze just enough.

‘I’m not leaving.’ She told him, her voice strong and stern, her hands flat against the counter. Owen stared at her, fingers twitching. So far he had managed to keep himself calm, collected, reasonable. She was toeing the line, treading him towards the choice of drowning or fighting madly for survival.

Owen had initially agreed to come back to Isla Nubalr on the short term, a couple of months to get the park running smoothly in the hands of new operators. They’d been stationed there for a little over a month. The park didn’t need them. New handlers and staff were in complete control. The trainers, fresh faced and full of new ideas, only wanted to pick his brain, not observe. Command had managed without Claire Dearing for six years. They could continue to live without her. ‘Why are you even arguing with me about this? It’s safe.’

Owen’s glare grew harder, the lines on his face deepening. Was she crazy, was it the Central American heat, was it too early to blame everything on hormones? ‘What the heck do you think is going to happen five months from now when one of those things gets out and you go into premature labour in the jungle. You managed to outrun these things last time, in heels no doubt. Luck isn’t going to be too kind when you’re seven months pregnant. Whose to say that being locked up in Command is safe, if you chance to be there this time. What about Noah? What about everything we built? The mutual respect. Our home is just sitting out there in Minnesota doing nothing. We fought hard for that, Claire. It’s selfish to throw all of it away.’

‘ _Selfish?!_ ’ The word came out of her mouth on a high pitched screech, her face bright red with anger. Owen was indifferent, cool and calm on the outside. His words bit but his true aggression had not won through.

In a second Noah’s voice carried through the bungalow crying for his father in terrified screams and wobbly baby voice. ‘That little boy in there, is scared shitless of this island and what it holds. Don’t you see that?!’ he hissed at her, passing Claire on his way to his crying son.

The boy was not in bed when his father found him, back pressed into the far corner of his room, hiding under a teepee. The tears on his cheeks glistened in the moonlight as Noah held his hands out for Owen, not daring to move from his hiding place. His chest contracted. This wasn’t Noah; a terrified little boy. Noah was brave, outgoing, courageous. He was friendly to old ladies on the street, and bossy with his friends. He had a good heart. He wasn’t the kind of little boy to wake up screaming in the middle of the night because monsters were going to eat him.

'Hey buddy,’ Owen cooed as he scooped Noah into his arms, cuddling the boy tightly for a second longer than normal. 'It’s okay,’ he whispered easing them both down to the toddler’s 'big boy’ bed. Noah breathed heavily against his fathers chest, panting breaths. Owen held him, brushing dirty blonde hair off his sweaty face. Noah whispered a query, breathing still laboured, curious if his mother was mad.

They never fought in front of Noah. Never. Not even while he was in the house, if they could help it. Arguments, when they occurred, were either discussed civilly or hissed in the kitchen late at night. The boy was a stranger to their sometimes fights, but he knew when his mother was mad.

Owen worried that they fought too much, occasionally disagreeing over small things. It was Karen who reassured their fears, their marriage was a lot more sound than they realised. They were fine, she would click her tongue, laughing at their qualms before slipping into anecdotes of her now long dead marriage.

In the distance, locked up in an appropriate, monitored paddock, a dinosaur roared. Noah, still wrapped in Owen’s arms, tightened his tiny hold on his father’s bicep. Owen squeezed his son, pressing a kiss to the boy’s sweaty hair as he tried to lower the boy to bed. Noah let go reluctantly, his arm skating out to fiercely grab a stuffed snow leopard, ‘Minnesota Zoo’, stitched into his plush belly. ‘Goodnight Noah,’ he kissed the boy’s head, swiping away the rest of his tears. The boy’s eyes fluttered. ‘Goodnight Rory,’ he gave the stuffed animal a pat on the head.

‘Daddy,’ Noah whispered, his voice a little croaky. Owen hummed, his hand still holding the child’s, ‘I miss the big cats.’ His job after, and now before, the island had taken residence in the Minnesota Zoo working with and training the animals. At first, he was refined to the big cats, as a new litter had just been born. As the years ticked on, one after the other, Owen slowly found himself watching over more than one exhibit. By the time InGen had brainwashed his wife, Owen was first in command to all the animals enclosed in the zoo’s walls. The big cats, however, had always been his favourite. Noah had a special interest in them, born purely of the admiration he held for his father.

‘Me too, buddy, me too.’ Noah let go of his hand, snuggling further into his blankets, Rory tucked under his chin. Owen stayed until his breathing evened out, the prehistoric creatures in the distance seemingly content on making no more noise for the rest of the night.

Something inside of him bubbled with excitement, as Owen watched Noah’s chest rise and fall in a succinct rhythm. That movement had been familiar since the moment he met his son, holding him in too large arms, timing his breathing just to make sure he was alive. They were going to have another baby. Fear bit at his tongue. Noah was the best thing that had happened to him aside from his Velociraptor’s - and Claire.

Noah, his son, that tiny ball of blue giggles and tiny fingers. He spent weeks marvelling at the little boy, so small Owen could hold him in one arm snuggly. There was going to be another one. Another little boy, or girl, a little like him and Claire, a little like Noah. If Claire got off that island, there was going to be another baby in his home.

Fear taunted him. Isla Nublar hissing under his feet. Owen couldn’t shake the image away of his pregnant wife giving birth in the jungle, facing complications that required medical expertise. Their daughter dying just before she was born. All he could think about were the statistics of all of them making it out of there alive. A picture flashed. Owen standing on the ferry, Noah on one hip, a new born in the other hand, Claire clearly gone. Flash. Owen trying to hold up his barely conscious wife, the woman covered in blood, her own blood, as she wailed for their son; snatch by the jaws of a pteranodon, and a tiny baby who died before seeing light.

He wanted out, the island was a death trap, he would not subject his family to it any longer.

Owen left Noah’s room with heavy shoulders, his feet barely lifting off the ground to take a step. He was excited, deep down, below the fear that he would never get to see the child alive. Knowing full well that if a dinosaur came between himself and his family, he would sacrifice his life. The possibilities of him walking away without Claire, without Noah, without this new baby safely inside her mother or alive and well, delivered when she should arrive, were high. If it came down to it, someone was going to die.

Claire was standing exactly where he had left her, leaning on the kitchen counter, watching her thumbs roll around the other. Owen thought for a second that she was crying, until her head rolled towards him, blue eyes expectant of another outburst.

Noah’s cries for help were hardly a sign that their conversation was over. He didn’t want to argue anymore. His eyes were heavy, his head spinning. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep. ‘I’m putting myself and Noah on a ferry out of here tomorrow. We’re going home. Feel free to join us.’

‘What happened to sticking together for survival?’ Claire whispered quietly.

He stepped towards her slowly, a large hand finding the small of her back. His touch was gentle, ’we can’t survive here.’ Owen kissed his wife’s temple softly, finally before turning into bed without her.

He was angry, practically fuming at her desire to stay put, heat was radiating off of him. Owen couldn’t direct that at Claire. Despite how mad she made him, he loved her, always would. She just needed a little tough love to remember where the line between sacrifice for work and sacrifice for family stood.

He woke in the morning to an empty bed, not quite sure if she had joined him through the night. Lying on his back, Owen scrubbed a heavy hand over his face. Something in his chest tightened. Agitation bit behind his eyes.

He could hear Claire down the hall, Noah too, the smell of bacon tickling his nose. Owen rolled out of bed, reaching blindly for a t-shirt as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. He fumbled for his phone, checking the date. He sniffed the air. Definitely bacon.

Stumbling into the kitchen, he mumbled, ’it’s Wednesday,’ his hand found the top of Noah’s head. The boy looked up, small face grinning and covered in syrup as he shoved half a pancake into his mouth. ‘Bacon and pancakes!’ Owen exclaimed teasingly at the boy as he scrutinised his wife, her back to him.

’’n ‘ench ‘oast’ Noah mumbled around a mouth full of food.

Owen frowned, listening as Claire chastised the boy for his bad table manners. ‘What’s the special occasion?’ he asked, receiving a slight shrug of the shoulders.

‘No bacon ’til Sunday,’ Noah chimed before shoving another pancake in his mouth. Owen agreed with the boy, pointing out that french toast was a rarity in itself and pancakes on special occasions. Claire turned slightly from the stove, only to hand her husband a plate.

‘Is something wrong?’ he whispered, hoping for the opposite. Owen half wanted to cross his fingers like a little kid, in hope for her changing a stubborn mind.

Claire’s eyes fluttered from the empty skillet to her husband’s face. ‘Are you still planning on leaving?’ He nodded, realisation dawning. She wasn’t going with them. She was letting them go. Owen took a seat at the bench next to Noah, swallowing his breakfast with a dry mouth. This isn’t what he wanted. He should have known better than trying to scare Claire Dearing into an ultimatum.

The atmosphere was thick as the small family ate, Noah’s plate almost empty as his parents picked, stomach’s tied in knots, at the food before them. When Noah begged to not be refined to Ebony’s charge that day, Claire paled. ‘Oh no,’ she forced a smile, ‘you’re doing something different today.’ His young face lit up, possibility endless so long as his nanny wasn’t around. ‘You and Daddy are going on the ferry!’ She exclaimed, clapping her hands together - forcing excitement.

Noah’s blue-green eyes blew wide, turning from his mother’s face to his father’s, mouth agape. ‘Where’re we goin’?’ Owen didn’t miss the way Noah’s shoulder’s relaxed at the idea of sailing away from the island.

‘We’re going home for a little while,’ he told him. Noah frowned, not because he would be going home, but because his father seemed hesitant, dreadful.

Claire chimed in, ‘Daddy needs to check on the big cats.’ Noah’s attention shifted. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Claire knew his job was still waiting for him if Owen so wished to go back. He had already promised the head of operations a once-monthly visit.

Claire was not blind to Owen’s strings, the ties and ribbons he kept neatly on everything back in Minnesota. He held them all, wrapped around his fingers, fearful as he lay in wait for the glass ceiling to break. He was always prepared. They were not going back to that island without a backup - for him at least.

‘You too?’

Claire smiled, her mom smile, the kind that coloured her cheeks a little. ‘Oh, of course.’ She chuckled, reaching out to pinch her son’s cheek, as though he were silly of thinking she wouldn’t join them. ‘I’ll be right behind you in a few days.’ It was Owen’s turn to cast wide green eyes at her. Claire avoided his gaze. He wasn’t sure who exactly she was lying to, Noah or himself, convincing him to go, convincing the boy to be secure without her only for ‘a few days’.

She walked them both to the ferry just before lunch. Neither adult acknowledged that she hadn’t gone to work, instead she stayed in the bungalow, helping Noah decide what things need to stay and what had to go home. They both had large packs, full of clothes and stuffed animals - in Noah’s case. It wasn’t everything that they brought to the island - or acquired while they were there. Claire hadn’t spoken to Owen much that morning, she had, however, promised to send anything along after them if it were left behind or desperately needed.

She cuddled Noah tightly on the dock, kissing his face all over, making him giggle. She watched his face as he gasped for air, still laughing in her arms, while she committed him to memory. She put the boy on his feet, comfortable in knowing that he wouldn’t get lost in the sparsely busy docks. Owen latched onto his hand instantly. Claire graced her husband with a fleeting kiss, her emotions torn.

His heart clenched painfully. Heartbroken at the realisation that this would be their last personal interaction until she succumbed and came home. He wasn’t returning here, not for any longer than a couple of days if necessary - if it meant she would follow him out of there. It was Claire who had to surrender, bow down and admit some wrong doing in uprooting their family to Isla Nublar. She would come home. He knew she would. Owen just wasn’t too sure when.

‘Bye baby,’ she couched down to kiss Noah’s cheek again. Tears burning the back of her eyes. Noah has no idea. He accepted his mother’s kiss, hugging her tightly around the neck one last time. He called out to her, from the ramp of the ferry, exclaiming that he would see her in a few days, as his little hand waved maniacally, the other still being clutched by his father.

*

The house was cold, abandoned not long enough for cobwebs but enough to seem unfamiliar. Noah settled instantly, shoes racing against the floor as he moved from room to room, flinging things at his father.

Left behind toys were reclaimed. Stuffed animals and action figures. Jet lagged and tired, Owen spent the afternoon on the floor, Noah climbing over him recounting his love for his forgotten toys.

Father nor son focused on the fact that Claire wasn’t with them, as Owen equipped Noah in making sure their house was working as it should.

*

Owen woke to a tapping at the front door, the birds still chirping outside the window. He forced himself out of bed, head still stuck in Central America.  

Bare feet padded against wood floors as he reached the door and let it creak open. ‘What the hell happened?’ Karen’s voice was sharp, accusing. Owen took a step back, physically shocked by the woman’s quiet rage. ‘Don’t pretend like you don’t know.’

‘Karen,’ he sighed, hand scratching the back of his neck. ‘It’s almost 8am. I’m still a little out of whack.’ He and Noah had been on Minnesota soil for close to twenty-eight hours. Central America was still thrumming through his veins. Owen was only thankful that Noah seemed unaffected, happy to go to bed like normal, his sleep uninterrupted.

Owen let his sister-in-law in, allowing her access to his home as she shrugged off her jacket and made herself comfortable at the kitchen bench. ‘You spoke to Claire?’ he asked, knowing the assumption was right. He had texted Karen once he and Noah were settled back into their home, releasing the relative of her duty in watching his home.

‘Of course I did,’ Karen huffed. ‘I was a little confused as to why you were home, so I called her, thought I was due to check in regardless. She was a mess, Owen, sobbing - in complete hysterics - about how you’d left her, that it was all over. I - I’ve never heard her that upset.’ Owen leant on the counter, his head fell into his hands.

‘It’s not over,’ he groaned, ‘we just had a disagreement.’ He tried to explain in as few words as possible. That island was not safe.

Karen hummed, easily agreeing. He hesitated a moment, listening to the house breathe, careful that they hadn’t awoken the little boy. ’She said you took Noah from her.’ Karen whispered, as though the statement was a physical low blow to his gut. She was right in that assumption. Owen inhaled sharply. His lungs were empty.

He groaned a second time, his chest contracting. ‘I didn’t take him from her.’

‘He’s here, she’s not.’ Karen shrugged.

Owen stood straight, his hands locked in his hair. ‘She didn’t fight me on it, Karen. She knew it was dangerous, she knew he hated it there, she knows I’ve made the right decision. I haven’t barred her from our lives, hell, I asked her to come with us. She let us go.’

‘I don’t think you realise how much power you hold over Claire.’

‘I don’t hold anything over her. Everything we have is because of mutual respect. I respected her judgement in going back to that island, but she was wrong. Clare’ll come home, Karen, she has too.’

‘My sister is notorious for her stubborn streak, I wouldn’t beat against it anytime soon.’ Owen knew that. He knew she was stubborn right down to the bone, but he also knew she would give in eventually. She’ll stay for a little while, stand her ground just to prove it to him. Just to prove that the island was safe, that she was capable of withstanding it on her own. He also knew that she can’t sleep without him beside her, too many years of co-sleeping after a traumatic event left her with a dependancy. He knew too, that she struggled to keep her sanity intact without him as as point of contact.

Claire Dearing was in no means co-dependant on her husband, she was just used to having him around, used to snuggling on the couch and falling asleep next to him. She had adapted her life to his touch on the small of her back, centring her, absorbing her stress. Claire couldn’t quite function without those little nuances. She got by, but not without being miserable.

She would come home. Owen was willing to bet on it.

‘What about Noah, is he alright?’ Karen asked, concern pulling at the corners of her mouth. Noah was only a little boy, nearing on his fourth birthday. Like any small child, he loved his mother. He was attached to both parents, completely loyal to each of them. They both served different purposes. Daddy chased away the monsters, Mommy comforted him. He couldn’t have one without the other.

‘He thinks she’ll be following us in a few days,’ Owen answered solemnly, knowing it wasn’t the case. Karen reached out, her hand squeezing his arm. Claire didn’t intend the pain she was causing, she was just too blind to realise it. Sometimes her sister had a one track mind. She was still stuck in the self-conscious loop of not being a good mother, and on occasion forgot to put her son first.

Karen sighed, ‘she’ll cave, Owen, she loves you both too much to put that island first.’ He knew that. Although a little doubtful. Owen just didn’t know if Claire herself had fully come to terms with it. 


	2. All These Mistakes, I Thought They'd Ruin Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last bit has been scribbled in tutorials, lectures, on busses and trains. I typed in the car, on the couch and at my desk. It was tapped on my phone at 1am and scribbled on a page. It’s been keyboard smashed by a grumpy two year old, and deleted by her to. Finally - it received the worst copy-edit I have ever done - on a cold and flu addled brain. 
> 
> Any mistakes are my own, Owen is an asshole, or, I think ‘dick’ was the collective term? I apologise. The only way I could get this scenario to work - was to make everything OOC. I really do hope it lives up to expectation and satisfaction. 
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who left a kudos or a comment. It means a lot to hear/read your feedback!

Hours ticked into days, into weeks, into a month. Claire hadn’t budged from Isla Nublar. She called, for what it was worth, every night, between bath and bed. Noah accepted the phone greedily each time it rang, grasping it to his little ear like a life line. He listened intensely, memorising every word she whispered. Owen stood guard, arms crossed, assessing the little boy’s face for any sign of distress. Noah only listened, the wonders of the universe spinning in his eyes as his mother sun stories in his ear. She was the galaxies above his head, glistening in the night sky, full of secrets to be shared.

Noah answered her questions, mumbling ‘mmhm’ and ‘yeah-uh’. On occasion, he mumbled a soft ‘love you’ his fingers in his mouth, a comfort his mother couldn’t see. He told her every intricate detail of his day, the colour of the leaves, who he spoke to, what breakfast smelt like, and how nice it was to be back at kindergarten. He told her silly things about the clothes he was wearing, and new toys he wanted for his birthday. Some days Noah documented every step he took, each item in the playground, every piece of bark and each fallen branch. Owen didn’t doubt the boy would have counted out each blade of grass for his mother, if he could count that high.

His days were painted in childlike words, the shapes of the clouds, the feel of the breeze. He caught ever moment just so his mother could feel it too.

When he was done, his demeanour changed. His mother would hang up on, ‘I love you, sleep tight.’ Noah turned his head, wide blue-green eyes seeking an explanation in his father. His hand held out the phone in an open palm like the object had harmed him. Owen took the device. Crouching in front of his son he tried to pull the boy into a hug. It never worked. Not on the first night, or the seventh, certainly not on the thirtieth.

Noah was howling before Owen could pocket the phone. Fat tears chased down his cheeks, distraught sorrow caught in his throat. The boy pushed his father away, howling for his mother. He cried until he was red in the face, coughing from gut wrenching sobs.

The boy screamed if his father touched him, leaving the older man to sit beside his bed. Unsure of what to do. Noah cried himself to sleep.

He was exhausted, slight hiccups slipping from his mouth between wails as Noah sat head to his knees. Owen sighed, hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he reached the other out to slowly pat Noah’s back. The boy, once worn out was usually susceptible to affection, particularly back patting. Owen was wrong in his assumption that night, only receiving a high pitched protest from the three-year-old.

Getting up, Owen escaped to the hallway, hand pulling his phone out of his pocket. He was mad, fucking mad. This was all on Claire. It was Claire who hadn’t come home, and Claire who called every night - with the best intentions - that only upset Noah. It was Owen who was left to pick up the pieces of their broken son. He dialled her number without much through, red flaring through his eyes.

‘You here that?’ he asked into the phone, as soon as she picked up. Noah’s bedroom door was cracked open, his cries still strong as he wailed ‘mommy’ into the recesses of his blankets. ‘This is what is going on, Claire.’ He couldn’t blame her, not directly. ‘Are you going to let him cry like that forever?’ Owen huffed, gripping the phone tightly as he hissed his words. He wanted to hang up, was ten seconds from hitting disconnect when she breathed his name.

‘Owen,’ it was so soft, the first time she had said it in a month. She called for Noah. That was it. He handed the phone over as soon as he saw her name. ‘I want to come home.’ Everything clicked off. Owen stopped breathing. That was it. That was what he wanted to hear, to see, for a whole month. He’d been living without her for so long, he couldn’t remember what breathing felt like. Was he holding his breath? ‘I’m coming home, Owen. I just - I have to finish one more thing.’

‘Claire,’ he growled her name. One thing led to another, led to three, led to top priority. He had drowned in that mess before, so had she, their son. Not again.

Claire sighed, her voice soft. Had she been crying? He didn’t want to ask. ‘Please, three days, that’s all I need. I’m coming home. I promise.’ He didn’t know what to say. Thank you? Please hurry. It all felt bitter on his tongue. Hopeful, but bitter. Owen was still mad, seething that it had taken a month for Claire to get her priorities straight.

There was a small part of him, the same part that blossomed on occasion at the thought of their new baby, that was thrilled to have her home. Soon. She would be home soon.

He wondered briefly if their marriage was at risk, if it should be put it on the line. He didn’t action anything. He didn’t follow up. He expressed fears to Karen, who once again, calmed him. Everything was fine. They would get through this. S

he was coming home.

Three days.

Home.

*

‘ _Have you seen the news?_ ’ The text message from Karen was ambiguous and all together alarming. Owen glared at it for a second. Had he seen the news. Noah took a little longer to get ready that morning. They were running late. No time for breakfast TV. It was only 12.

Owen broke for the tea room. His heart was pounding, frightened, his mind telling him it was nothing. Probably something trivial, like a hotspot on the zoo. He panicked, had he said anything official to a stranger, or park guest recently. Enough so that it would stir up news.

He walked straight into Lucas, a keeper who worked closely with the giraffes. ‘Tough timing, right? Wasn’t she supposed to be home tonight?’ Owen stared, confused, heart rate rising. ‘She’ and ‘home’ were only synonymous with Claire. Reasonable thought had moved into blunt panic. He could feel his heart hammering against his sternum, begging, pleading, to be let out. Lucas was pushed aside, the words coming out of his mouth seemingly nothing in retrospect to Owen’s mind. No one was cracking the walls of explanation.

The television was on, several staff members clambered around the screen, hanging onto the words slicing from the news anchor’s mouth. Casualties. Havoc. Trapped. Jurassic World. Owen caught singular words. Suddenly deaf to bad news. The sub heading on the screen scrolled small details. The staff on Isla Nublar could not be evacuated. People were missing. Assets were out of containment.

Owen’s hand flew to his pocket, searching frantically for his phone. No new messages, no emails, nothing. His heart skipped. Claire was supposed to call him, go over her flights before she boarded. Her flight out of Costa Rica was at 12:30. Nothing. No messages. No emails. No missed calls. As his blood ran cold, thin in his veins, Owen prayed she wasn’t still on that island.

She was. Of course she was. Claire Dearing, standing strong, willing to go down with her ship. Mighty Ahab finally driven mad. Dragged into the depths of the ocean by his greatest obsession.

The media were focusing all their time on Jurassic World. The park wasn’t open to consumers. Not yet. Not again. Unobtainable things could not be controlled. Playing God only ended in destruction. Why hadn’t InGen learnt that yet. Incident after incident erupted, corroded, blew up in their faces. They pushed on. Lapping at the warm oasis in the middle of the desert. Without thinking clearly Owen was on the first plane he could catch to Costa Rica. Karen would pick Noah up form Kindergarten and take him home. Keep him away from the news. Five hours later he was standing on Costa Rican soil. InGen had set up camp monitoring the island without being on it. They had opened communication with the control room. Keeping tabs on the staff that were there, and what they could see.

Owen forced his way into their graces, threatening lives and law suits if they didn’t let him in. If they didn’t allow him access.

‘You can’t just walk in here and start making requests, Mr. Grady.’ A man stepped forward, moving his employers to the side. This, this was the man Owen needed. Someone in charge. Someone whose position he could use.

‘Damn right, I can.’ He hissed, moving towards the man. ‘My _pregnant_ wife is on that island. So help me God, you’re going to get her out of there.’

Owen got what he wanted. Joe, head of operations, patched him through to Lowery in Command. Why on earth that man had been dumb enough to go back as well, was puzzling, but oddly comforting in that moment. His wife was capable of fending for herself, running away from a T-Rex, in heels, no less.

‘Is she there?’ Owen asked, voice quite as Lowery prattled off the latest casualties from the ACU. InGen were allowing him to stay within their Costa Rica operation so long as he made himself useful. Lowery stopped mid-sentence, park destruction forgotten.

‘Uh, yeah, yeah. Do you want to speak to her?’ his please was almost a whisper. His hands shaking, jaw cracking with stress. His heart hadn’t beat a single regular rhythm since Karen’s message had started him on this path.

This was his fault. He had pressured her, tried to force a response from his wife. Maybe if he hadn’t left, then this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe they would have come to a reasonable solution and left Isla Nublar together.

He could hear her hands grasping the receiver before she whispered down the line. ’Owen?!’ Her voice was gentle, a little frayed at the edges. She was okay. A weight lifted from his shoulders, in the smallest measure, enough to help him breathe again.

He was quick to soothe the worry in her voice, instantly needing to calm her above anything else. ’I’m right here, babe. I’m right here. Are you all right?’ Claire responded with a shaky ‘yeah-uh’ mumbling the confirmation much like their son. ‘Is the baby all right?’ his second worry.

Claire exhaled heavily, her breath shaking as she tried to collect herself. ‘She’s fine, Owen.’ He could hear the tears course down her cheeks, following her ill attempts to collect her emotions. Her voice broke on his name. ’We’re both okay.’

‘She?’ he asked, mind repeating the word in his head. Claire wobbled another ‘yeah-uh’, a slight chuckle on the end of it. ‘Claire,’ he focused on her name, centring her. ‘We’re getting you out of there, okay? I’m right here. I’m right here waiting for you.’

She was quiet on the other end, nothing but her disjointed breathing. ‘I want to go home, Owen. I just - I want to go home. I don’t want to do this again.’ Owen could count on his fingers the number of times Claire had been upset in the past six years. She hated crying. Hated being so upset she couldn’t bottle it up.

‘Soon, all right? Soon. You’re top priority, okay?’ He heard her nod. ‘I love you.’ The words felt funny coming out of his mouth, fluffy with cotton, uncomfortable but familiar. Rusty with no use. She sighed into the phone, repeating his words. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come home sooner.’ she whispered, apologetic, voice full of blame.

‘No, Claire, I forced you into making a snap judgement without laying out all the facts. We could have handled this so much better. It’s my fault, I was fixating on getting off that island that I didn’t realise I had started acting like an ass.’ He was being honest, truthful, apologetic. He was the one to blame. The one who knew how his wife ticked, knew how she made her decisions. Had they approached it justly things wouldn’t have been as callous. ‘I gotta go, okay? But, I’m right here.’

*

He didn’t know how they did it, and he didn’t care. In the early hours of a new day InGen had delivered it’s living staff members to the same hanger they had ditched them six years ago. He scoured the small groups of shaken but uninjured Jurassic World staff.

Claire was nowhere to be seen among the hordes. He was ready to panic again when someone behind him spoke. ‘She’s taking names, making sure everyone’s here, making sure they’re all okay.’ Lowery spoke, easing Owen’s fears. He smiled to see the man, glad to know he was there. ‘She’s not far away, relax.’ He couldn’t. Not until he saw her face, not until he had apologised.

Time stopped in that hackneyed way when he sets his eyes on her. Clip board in hand Claire is talking to a shaking young woman in Jurassic World khaki. He hesitated. Watching her comfort the young woman instead of interrupting. He missed her. Owen knew that, and yet having her only a few feet away seemed to thrum inside of him, filling a whole he didn’t realise he’d cut out.

She was a vision. As she had always been. Alarming red hair sitting in waves around her face. Her clothes were new, still clean. He noticed, just faintly, but still without need to look for it, the small bump, curving on her midsection. A hand drifted to cover the bump subconsciously, fingers splaying across her shirt. Claire turned her head, just slightly, mid conversation with the woman, smile coasting her lips.

Blue eyes landed on Owen, her smile widening once she saw him. Claire finished her conversation with the young woman, squeezing her on the arm before breaking away. The clicking on her heels against the concrete snapped Owen out of his daze. He moved towards her, each of his steps matching her own.

‘Hey,’ she breathed, a step away from him.

He was struck suddenly with an inability to respond. He stared at her. What was there to say when you reacted stupidly, when your partner reacted stupidly. He stood by the fact that she could have followed him home. ‘There is so much to say and we have so much to work through. I just, I want to start it with ‘I’m sorry’, I was angry and I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have. I was too stubborn to take no for an answer and too blind to realise what I said and did was wrong. I love you, please don’t doubt that.’ The corners of her mouth picked up slowly, spreading the gentle grin across her face.

He mimicked her grin, unable to stop himself. Leaning forward, he held her small face between his large hands, marvelling at the juxtaposition before kissing her deeply.

‘This doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you, Owen. My god, I am so mad. You put me in a horrible position. I couldn’t just drop everything and walk off that island. I had things to finish, commitments to keep. You were so caught up in the idea of leaving that there was no point fighting you. Did you stop and think later, when you were at home, that if we talked about it things would have been fine?’ Owen shook his head, a school boy being reprimanded by the principal. He realised these things now, but at the time, even a couple of weeks later, reason refused to work with him.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I forgive you.’ She caressed the side of his face softly, stubble nipping at her fingertips. ‘You were thinking about Noah, I can’t blame you for that, for thinking about him and me, about the baby and our future. Just, just don’t act like that again, or I’ll kick your ass.’ Claire threatened, stepping up on tip toes to press her lips to his as her finger poked him in the chest.

He pressed his forehead to hers, ’I won’t, ever again.’

‘Good,’ Claire chuckled, pecking his lips, ‘and I promise, no more InGen. No more Masrani.’ They could live with that.

‘Claire,’ he whispered her name, she hummed. ‘Are we okay?’ she nodded slowly, her head pressed to his shoulder, letting Owen hold her for the first time in a month. ‘Guess what,’ he whispered into her ear, the tone soft as he dropped a kiss to the top of her head. She hummed again, fatigue wearing down on her shoulders. So much had happened in a almost twenty-four hours. The clock was ticking towards 2am. She was up at 6. Her emotions had flown from one extreme to the next. She was tired. ‘We’re having a baby.’ he told her, elation rising in his words.

If he could go back to that moment, standing in the bungalow’s kitchen. To when she told him she was pregnant. He would want to start again. There was so much else he could have done, other ways he could have acted. Instead, it all shut down, the only insecurity breaking through. He was so excited. Another child. A sibling for Noah. Someone else to spin around and feed candy too. Someone else to tuck in at night. Someone else to hold ever so tight.

‘There’s the response I was hoping for,’ Claire whispered back, smiling against his shirt. ‘Where’s Noah?’

‘Minnesota.’

‘I really want to go home, but I really want to sleep. Does that make me a bad person?’ She asked, looping her arm through his, still leaning on his shoulder.

Owen chucked, ‘not at all.’

*

_Four and a half months later…_

‘We’re having a baby today!’ Noah told everyone who passed him. Owen groaned. Others in the shop only smiled, a few making comments of excitement back at the little boy. ‘Can we get a treat for Mom?’ he asked, looking up at Owen as they walked through the department store.

‘Sure, we can! What do you think she’ll want?'

Noah took a moment to decide, happily letting his father lead him throughout the store. He hummed, ‘some LEGOs?’

Owen laughed, ‘that’s more of a Noah treat than a Mom treat, don’t you think?’ Noah shook his head.

‘Mom _really_ likes building my LEGO!’ He wasn’t lying or deceiving. Claire was the house’s designated LEGO builder. Owen always ended up missing a step, leaving his creation lopsided or out of whack. He lost his temper, too much to be trusted with the plastic bricks. That’s where Claire stepped in.

‘You’re not wrong, but maybe we can find something she likes a bit more than that. Something for Mom time.’

‘Can we get some LEGO anyway?’ Noah asked, wide eyes seeping into his father’s soul.

‘If you’re good.’

He was always good.

*

‘Daddy bought me LEGO,’ was the first thing out of Noah’s mouth as soon as he saw his mother. A singular day having past since he last saw her. Owen rolled his eyes, chuckle resonating from his chest as Claire humoured the boy genuinely. Karen was behind him, closing the door as she apologised quietly, taking on the hushed voices of the maternity ward. ‘Is’sa police station,’ Noah nodded his head, scrambling to climb up onto the bed with his mother. Claire helped him, finally pulling the boy into a tight hug once he was settled. ‘

Oh wow, not the big one?’ the boy nodded, Claire mumbled something under her breath about _too expensive_ and _christmas_ , pointedly at Owen. ‘Are we going to build it when I get home?’

Noah hesitated, tearing his eyes from his mother he looked to his aunt and then his father. He was told by every adult, including his mother, that once the baby was born they might be a little strained for time. Big things could not be promised. Not yet. Claire had already organised Karen to watch the baby on Sunday’s while she took Noah out for one on one time. The boy just didn’t know. ‘Aunt Karen says Gray can help - but I like you?’ He was hesitant, hands in front of his face, asking more than telling.

‘I’ll build it for you, baby,’ she promised, kissing his cheeks as she squished him again.

Claire had been avoiding the baby in the bassinet for when Noah was ready to ask the question. The infant beat her brother too it, squawking loudly. Noah’s head snapped to the right, his little eyes wide at the sound. Owen laughed, his hand instantly soothing the child in the bassinet in front of him.

‘Is that my sister?’ Noah asked, little finger pointing into his chest. Claire grinned from ear to ear, nodding as she asked if he wanted to meet her. ‘Yeah-uh.’ Noah nodded eagerly, little eyes taking in each of his father’s movements as the little bundle was lifted and placed into her mother’s arms. Noah shuffled, his aunt placing a pillow behind him before Claire eased the little girl into her big brother’s lap.

‘Noah, this is Violet.’ Noah stared at the bundle in his arms, her pink face peeping out from behind white blankets, her little fingers curled, slightly blue. He stroked the top of her little hand, gently with the tips of his fingers. Mother and father watched on, witnessing brother and sister bond, waiting for the moment he turned to them and asked them to take her back. Noah just wanted his sister, breathing with her in his lap, uninterrupted, not phased by the world around them.

‘Do you like her?’ Claire asked, several minutes later, eyes gleaming, smile wide. Noah broke his attention away, jumping when Violet let out a stuttered breath. His eyes snapped back to her for a second, checking she was okay.

‘I love her.’ He told his mother with no hesitation, his eyes falling back on the little girl wrapped up safely in his lap.

‘Now,’ Owen started, sitting on the edge of his wife’s hospital bed. ‘Having a baby sister is a very, very, big responsibility. ‘Do you think you can handle it?’

Noah shrugged his shoulders, ‘maybe,’ his mother and father laughed. Karen standing idly by, her hand over her face. Violet started to squirm, her little face scrunching up, ready to scream a needy cry. Owen removed her from Noah before she could make a noise. Holding the tiny infant against his arm, not as scared this time, in infant handling, as he had been when Noah was born. Karen, adept and unperturbed by fussy babies, accepted her first cuddle with her new niece. Freeing Owen’s arms, so he could return to his family.

Claire had pulled Noah back into her arms, whispering in his ear with an easy smile. The boy giggled. Claire kissed the top of Noah’s head, a hand reaching out to grasp Owen’s. Her smile never faded. She was exhausted but it hardly mattered in relation to what she held in that room.

She and Owen never failed to hit a wall in their personalities. He was the Alpha, and she the control freak. They butted heads more often than not. They made it work. For survival. For attraction. For the simple reason that they knew they would last together. He pushed her buttons, she was capable of pushing back.

There were moments where they thought it was all over. Where they knew they had to say goodbye. They never did. They let small separations breathe, curing like fine wine. They returned to their lives. Letting moments like this, Noah snuggled against her chest, Violet safely in the arms of a bemused Karen. That’s what it was for. Family. Owen and Claire sticking together for survival against the odds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com


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